


How Many Scientists Does it Take to Screw in the Stark Tower?

by cognomen



Series: What's the Difference between Tony Stark and a Lawyer...? [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Complete, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-13
Updated: 2012-06-14
Packaged: 2017-11-05 06:32:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/403424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cognomen/pseuds/cognomen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stark had poked right through that, deliberately learning a foreign field of scientific study just to be able to converse on the same level as Bruce could - and with a true understanding of the subject. He realizes now that it was a calculated move. Stark had pierced his shell the way minor upsets or pokes with sharp objects couldn't do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

It's the surprising parts that are getting to Bruce the most. There's a lot about Tony Stark that's not much of a surprise - not the ego, not the attitude and not that he backs most of that up with a dizzying capacity to learn and apply just about anything he really wants to. Tony obviously wasn't resting on Howard Stark's laurels anymore - he'd torn the whole company down and put it back together again. So what was truly surprising Bruce wasn't usually his actions, it was his _reasons_.

Honestly, Bruce hadn't gone into this looking to form any lasting attachments - if he was honest with himself, he knew better. Someday, he'd snap again, and there'd be no rampaging evil alien race to direct _his_ frustrations at. The _other guy_ didn't much care for taking orders that weren't any fun. Bruce had meant to keep that measure of reserve and separation, to protect himself as much as them.

Stark had poked right through that, deliberately learning a foreign field of scientific study just to be able to converse on the same level as Bruce could - and with a true understanding of the subject. He realizes now that it was a calculated move. Stark had pierced his shell the way minor upsets or pokes with sharp objects couldn't do. Subtly, and waking Bruce's interest in - _anything_ again, almost before he could even realize it. Bruce is grateful for that, and while he knows that agreeing to Stark's 'non-business proposition' isn't his best idea, it will probably be okay. He hopes.

His optimism is somewhat rewarded when he climbs into Tony's convertible thinking idly how the _other guy_ would be able to lift the expensive car in one hand and probably toss it clear down into the Manhattan river. 

"I know what you're doing," Tony Stark says, his voice raised to be hear d over the sound of wind and highway travel. He never speaks slowly, at least not in conversation. Sometimes, when his mind is going faster than even he can follow, he slows down just a little.

"Riding in the most expensive car I've ever seen?" Bruce asks, diverting, but he knows better than to expect it to work. The dashboard music console - obviously more than just that, but it's behaving itself and _pretending_ that all it can do is place cellular calls and tap into Pandora - is a confusing LCD display of patterns and flashing lights. Bruce is focusing on it so he doesn't seem to be looking at Tony as much as he actually is. The music is too quiet to hear. Whatever bombshell he's about to drop, it isn't so serious as to keep him from joking.

"Happy's on vacation, or you'd have seen my _real_ car- no, that's not what I meant," Stark reins himself in. It's interesting at times, not to say the expected thing. Tony's mind takes off with the unexpected input as quickly as if he'd been waiting for it and goes off in the most interesting directions. "I mean with this whole self-isolation-I-could-blow-at-any-minute thing." 

Bruce is watching Tony drive and think - for someone like Stark, that _is_ multitasking. He's focused on the road, eyes shifting over everything there is to take in, but he doesn't miss Bruce's response. "Really?"

"Sure. I could see it when we all had that Loki-stick induced group therapy session - if that's what it was and not just ten pounds of ego in a four pound pail."  
Bruce lets him continue, turning his undivided attention on Stark, who only takes his eyes away from the road for a second to makes sure his captive audience is paying attention.

"You're keeping us from getting too attached," Tony starts, and then overruns Bruce's guffaw - which is half act and half actual shock. "No, hear me out on this. Hear me out - you know that on earth, right now, there are probably only two or three people - and I lose the term loosely to include our Norse pal - who could take on the _other guy_.

"Ironically they're the same people who seem to want you around anyway, even with the full knowledge of who you are and what the possibilities are. And they - we even have a tolerance for the _other guy_ too so long as he's only hitting the red targets."

Tony pauses to grin at Bruce, or rather out the windshield with the understanding that Bruce is watching. Bruce isn't really sure what to say - yes he was keeping them at arm's length, but he didn't allow _anyone_ close these days. That he'd go a step further to isolate himself from people who might have to- the only people who _could_ kill him - seemed like common sense.

"So my question is, how much of that being ever so careful, always on the edge crap is just an act?" 

"You think I'm - what? Exaggerating my condition for - for pity?" Bruce is struggling to get his thoughts moving again. He isn't upset by the accusation, just a little saddened by the thought that Tony didn't understand him as well as he seemed to at times.

Even if it was a little flattering - it meant Tony hadn't seen how close Bruce could get to the edge so quickly, or that Bruce really was doing a better job managing - externally at least. "I mean, not to poke too many holes in that, but I've gone full on giant green monster _twice_ this last _week_ and you don't think it's as bad as I make it out to be?"

Stark looks at him over his sunglasses, as if he can't believe someone as smart as Bruce was could be so obtuse. "No. I'm sorry - are we having the same conversation? I don't think we are. I'm talking about the fact that I can see you pushing us away and trying to prove us - _me_ \- wrong so there won't be any hesitation if we think you're a danger."

Stark drops the statement into a silent atmosphere and Bruce is genuinely startled by how easily someone like Tony Stark had seen through him. If Stark could see all that from the limited exposure he'd had to Bruce - he was more than _he_ let on, too.

Leaning back in his seat, Bruce digests the implications in stunned silence, and finds his hands cupped over his mouth in a miserably nervous gesture that he can't stop and that gives Stark the benefit of victory without verbal confirmation. 

Tony pulls into the Stark Tower parking garage, which recognizes either him or the car, and opens a series of gates for them so they can bypass the long series of ramps that lead around the normal employee parking areas. They go straight up to the hangar-slash-garage where Tony keeps his four wheeled toys. 

"Yeah, well, I'm not going for it buddy," Tony continues, as if Bruce had said something in his own defense. Bruce is developing an affection for hearing Stark continue a conversation on his own, without mis-guessing where it would go. "You're going to have to try a lot harder for me to believe you're one mean word away from Mister Hyde."

"Don't say that," Bruce finally puts in, but he's smiling - it's nervous and feels like it could shatter, but _there_ anyway. "This isn't - a challenge or a game. It- I really don't know what _could_ set it off, I just know what _will_."

"So we stay way from that, but anything else should be fair game, if we try slow enough," Tony parks the car, and leans back, swinging one arm out over the cover of the convertible top, and letting the other hang over the driver's side door. "Give me a list of no-no's and we'll come up with a list of 'ok's'." 

"Why?" Bruce asks, trying not to sound too bewildered or hopeless. "Why take the risk at all?"

Tony looks at him over his sunglasses again, a picture of frank disbelief. "Because I think half your problem is living in that little box you put yourself in. Hell - I'd be angry all the time, too, if I lived like that. You're always so aware of what you _can't_ do. Maybe it'd help, a little, to know what you _can_." 

Bruce is having a hard time understanding why, of all his new 'business associates', this is coming from _Tony Stark_. The man isn't fragile - but a mistake at one critical point, and they'd be mopping his remains out of the highly polished Stark tower floors. If there was any floor _left_. But - well - Tony's a grown guy. He's seen a lot of shit too, for a 'billionaire, genius, playboy philanthropist'. The descriptor had notably disincluded 'survivor', which was a quality Bruce knew the man had to spare. 

He draws a breath - sighs- and when he closes his eyes to gather himself he remembers seeing Stark falling.

It was hazy - everything he saw and remembered from the _other guy_ was hazy and tinged with instinct. But he'd wanted - more than anything he'd wanted in a long time - to stop Tony Stark from falling to the ground. The realization that Stark might already be dead had made him angry, and it hadn't mattered because the Hulk was already there - but some part of that mixed emotion had translated into the gesture that _had_ saved Tony after all. Maybe - this was some extension of that. Maybe Tony Stark couldn't stand to see _him_ falling unresisting through the air, somewhere in the limbo between life and death. 

Tony is still waiting for an answer, and Bruce finally just relents. "Okay."

Stark turns further in the cramped seat - not much room in this car except to sit the way you were supposed to - adopting an openly conversational posture. As if he could sit here all day. He could, and Bruce almost wants to make him, to see the lack of activity slowly unwind Stark's attempt at lazy collection of focus. He isn't going to push that far yet, though.

"It's - I mean, it's a pretty short list," Bruce starts, ticking items off on his fingers. "If I get hurt. If I'm going to - to hurt myself. When I get very mad. And - he - _we_ get jealous."

It seems simple but all of it got really complicated, fast. Stark already seems to be brushing it off, not quite as child's play but as manageable anyway.

"So it's not just any strong emotion?" Tony prods.

Bruce shakes his head - but qualifies. "It's difficult to explain. Half the time it's a presence, but extremely muted. Like - asleep, almost? Or - or at least not paying attention. But some things _make_ him pay attention. It's not an automatic danger, but it's one step away. And I haven't figured out everything that does that yet."

Tony is obviously listening with a surprising amount of interest. Bruce knows his language is unclear and worse, unscientific. But so were thought processes and feelings in the first place. "And there's the risk it could be one of those things that takes you past start, without collecting two hundred dollars."

"There's that, yes." Bruce answers, glad to be understood without having to try and drag more out. He has no real proof that talking about the _other guy_ will get his attention, but he has no proof otherwise, either. "It's embarrassing and - hard to think about." 

"Hmm." Tony agrees, thinking about it. For a guy who claims to like machines better than people, he's putting a lot of effort into understanding something so human. Barely human, either - instinctively, bestially primitive. Something the mind had yet to discard as a useless trait for survival in today's society. Bruce is just starting to make himself comfortable, already used to the far-off expression that accompanied Stark's - well you couldn't really call it wandering- mind. He's just leaning back in his seat a little, feeling all the places he's still a bit sore, when Tony snaps back.

"You don't have to spend your whole life punishing yourself for it," he says, and Bruce finds the man's eyes on him with all the acute attention of a laser rifle sight. "It's okay to keep going." 

"What?" The sentiment hits Bruce in a wholly unexpected place, and he gets irritated again. Living with Stark is going to be a nightmare if he's going to just keep throwing barbs out like this. "That's not funny."

Tony arches his brows and displays his palms - he's not laughing.

"I can deal with the jabs and pokes, Tony - what you're doing is no worse than what I'm _already_ doing to myself all the time. But don't-" Bruce finds his hands curling into fists when he sees Stark's attention shift. Just his eyes, not his posture. "Don't poke at _that_ , it's not respectful."

His expression looks faintly surprised, and then Tony seems to stop himself, thinking - looking like he's trying to put his answer into small words. "I'm not poking. I'm telling you to stop believing you _deserve_ this as some kind of payment for 'your' actions." 

"Mister Stark," Bruce begins, he doesn't feel angry anymore, just tired. Exhausted. "How many people died as a result of my actions? I can't just hide behind 'the _other guy_ ' did it, I _am_ the Hulk. Someone has to be responsible."

"So you're intent on taking responsibility for all your actions, even those you can't possibly calculate or predict because they belonged entirely to the - decidedly unstoppable force of the other guy's instincts?"

"Yes."

"So what about all the people you saved?"

Bruce is unable to stop himself from falling into that trap - even if he should have seen it coming. Worse he can't even argue it was incidental. That the lives saved had only been a byproduct of having a convenient, _threatening_ target at hand for the Hulk to spend himself fighting. He'd saved Tony as an exclusive, decided point, after the fighting had already _ended_.

"Thank you, by the way." Tony says, and he clearly means it. "It may not always seem like it, but I'm pretty attached to myself."

Bruce laughs in spite of himself. Tony's sincere tone is a strange surprise as well as the joke on his own ego. Bruce isn't sure if that's the way he intended it, because Tony is sort of a paradox that way - he obviously had a lot of self-directed affection, but he'd hardly hesitated to put himself in danger's way, when it mattered. Bruce hadn't seen anyone else volunteering to take a warhead through an inter-dimensional gate.

Tony's smile answers, satisfied. Bruce realizes that Tony had wanted the laughter, and isn't really sure what to make of that. "I couldn't say why he did it. _I_ wanted to, but it's not like that ever mattered in the past."

Tony shrugs. He doesn't care how or why, he's still appreciative. "I've learned not to look gift rescues in the mouth." Stark considers his own statement for a second, shrugs off his own restraint or good taste, and adds. "I thought about it, though. Non-metaphorically."

"What do you think you'd - what would you be looking for in _his_ mouth?" 

Tony sighs and yanks the keys out of the ignition, the signal that they were apparently finally going to get out of the car. Bruce has his hand in the door handle when Tony finally clears his confusion. "Not _his_ mouth. _Yours_."

But he gets out of the car in a quick motion that doesn't let Bruce formulate a question in response, and they stop moving at a reasonable pace and get going in Stark's gear again.

"Jarvis?"

"Yes, sir?" The computer answers through speakers, adjusting the light in the garage as it does so, programmed to know that Stark wouldn't want brighter lights until he was moving around or asked for them.

"Tell Dummy to have drinks ready upstairs in the meeting room on three. _And_ tell him if he spills anything on the carpet, I'm going to take him apart and give him to art students." Tony glances over at Bruce to make sure he's got his bag out of the trunk before he begins leading the way toward the lifts. "It's amazing what they call 'art' these days, right? _Found Objects_ \- speaks for itself." 

Bruce shoulders his bag and gets into the lift after Tony - it's marked 'private'- and decides he's ready to follow Tony through this whole thing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A week ago, Bruce wouldn't have guessed that there was any possible chain of events that could possibly lead him here.

A week ago, Bruce wouldn't have guessed that there was any possible chain of events that could possibly lead him here. He would have denied out-of-hand that he could even be _in_ the Stark tower to begin with, let alone settled as deeply into the overstuffed leather couch as it was possible without becoming a part of it, and worried about inadvertently doing something to the leather with his naked backside. He was also sticking to it - distracting him from the fact that Tony Stark himself was on his knees on the plush carpet between Bruce's legs and with his mouth on Bruce's dick. It's so much that it's almost _too_ much, and his mind is only loosely bothering to accept it - more like a theoretical proposition than 'this is _really_ happening _right now_.

Even when he'd' agreed to Tony's proposition of discovering the line between 'okay' and 'too much', this really hadn't entered his mind. Stark had been incredulous - 'you never thought to see if _sex_ was okay?' - like it was possibly one of the most important things in the world. Bruce had honestly, at first, been more worried about slamming his fingers in desk drawers or jarring his funny bone. After that, sex seemed kind of unimportant - like the risk might not be worth it for something that Bruce deserved to live without if he had to.

After that discovery - and the one where Tony had not only revealed that he was more into AC/DC than just the music _and_ managed to pry Bruce's med school experimentation out of him by way of cunningly traded confidences, had come the pressure. 

Tony was subtly persuasive - and directly persuasive when it came down to it. Bruce still felt his mind trying to slide away into worries, distractions - and even though he doesn't have any sensation of impending change, he's caught up in wondering when the moment will come that he _does_.

Tony slides off him with a lewd noise, leaving the hand curled around the base of Bruce's shaft in place, and Bruce opens his eyes and begins to apologize.

Stark pinches the inside of his thigh - _hard_ \- between two knuckles of his free hand, and Bruce startles. Two things happen - the consciousness at the back of his mind stirs a little, and he finally starts to get hard in Tony's hand. Stark grins up at him - in a smugly victorious way that actually irks Bruce a little.

"Thought so," Tony mutters, his breath moving over wet and suddenly sensitive skin. Bruce lunges warningly for his hair, and gets a firm hold. He doesn't exactly want this to stop, but he has to impress _somehow_ that there's no game in this.

"Yeah," Tony says sharply, registering the tug. "No, I know - I'm not playing."

He looks up, inputting his half of the conversation neatly without actually requiring Bruce to speak his part, and he strokes his fingers demonstratively over Bruce's length. Bruce's fingers in his hair loosen in response, and Tony is obviously paying attention. "Just making sure you were with me, here. That got your 'attention', huh?"

"Yeah," Bruce gulps, wondering when exactly the breathy neediness had overtaken his voice. "But-"

"You're okay," Tony supplies, still stroking. "Don't stop?"

"Don't stop, Tony," Bruce adds, for good measure. As much as Tony can hold the conversation up on his own, Bruce knows he doesn't mind a little help. He'd also bet that Stark could easily be as rich as he was now if he just had a dime for every time he'd heard those words. It doesn't seem to make him like them any less. 

Tony reasserts his mouth. It's odd, the brush of his short beard is as distracting as it is pleasurable when it brushes the inside of Bruce's thigh. But, he's on edge now so he doesn't think about it quite as much. He's not distracted by _when_ either. The attention had flickered to life, passed over what was happening, and was waiting. For something more interesting - for that next step. This isn't it. It leaves Bruce free to actually enjoy this, and he couldn't measure his relief. He can let go a little, and when he does, Tony's got him.

Tony's good at it, too, and Bruce keeps himself from wondering how - it's not his business. What _is_ is that Tony knows the art is a straightforward one. He doesn't make any effort to show off or go overboard - almost out of character for the man except he seems to know better. Bruce can feel his impending orgasm climbing unstoppably down his spine like a live-wire, touching with clean, searing heat and making him sweat and stick to the couch more. 

At least the least the leather is too soft and expensive to d o anything so unsexy as _creak_ \- he's pretty sure he feels good enough to laugh at anything that ridiculous. Tony's already put a lot of effort into this, Bruce doesn't want to kill the mood. It'd probably bruise someone's ego.

And he also would kind of like to get off, now that he realizes it's not dangerous. It's a little selfish, but he can feel all that tension he's been carrying as sensation pools in spine, winding up trapped somewhere between his tailbone and Tony's mouth. He's panting and his muscles are contracting as he curls himself, all reflex. He'd spent so long worrying about reflexes and instincts that it feels a lot more dangerous than it is to find himself leaning down and curling his hands into Tony's shoulders encouragingly, feeling strength and resistance against his digging fingernails.

He's right there - _right_ \- and maybe he should warn Tony because as cool as he seemed to be with _this_ there's a difference between that and well - someone ejaculating in your mouth. Then again, Bruce decides with rare disregard for politeness, that if Tony was going to play this game, he had to know where it would end. Bruce grips harder, feeling the tightness in his arms. Tony makes a noise that could fall on either side of the encouragement/disapproval spectrum, but it's enough. Bruce goes from on the edge to over it so fast he makes a startled noise that would have been beyond embarrassing if he still had the capacity to care.

Tony jerks back - maybe he _would_ have liked a warning - but not all the way and stays with Bruce until the tension eases out of him. Tony leans back, and through half-closed eyes Bruce sees him spit the contents of his mouth into a handkerchief. Bruce huffs out a breathy chuckle when Tony goes the extra step to scrub his extended tongue with a corner, lips pulled back from his teeth in a grimace.

Tony's eyes land on him - but he's not disgusted or angry, just apparently as amused at his own peculiarities as Bruce was. He settles on the couch heavily beside Bruce and flings the used handkerchief over his shoulder and down into the crevice between the couch and the wall. Bruce hopes he pays the cleaners well.

"That's funny, huh?" Tony asks, settling his hand open-palmed on the back of Bruce's neck, as Bruce continues to laugh. 

"Yeah, a little bit," Bruce answers, and no matter how often to happen, the contact is surprisingly welcome. It's casual, unreserved. It makes Bruce feel almost - normal, for a second or two anyway.

"Good," Tony says, cryptically. He's smiling, though, which makes Bruce feel less like apologizing. Stark has a sort of infectious allergic reaction to apologies, given or received. He understands when they're present, without the statement having to be dragged out. Actual spoken apologies are only for the most dire circumstances. It's a relief - Bruce is guiltily starting to lose meaning in his apology. He feels like he should mean them _more_ somehow every time he gives one. 

Except, and _this_ he could say without burden of ego or uncertainty, it was impossible for him to be any more genuinely apologetic and still be upright and functional.

Stark whistles sharply to call Bruce's hazy attention back - he has a sixth sense for self-pity. "I think that calls for a cigar, what do you think?" 

"What about - "Bruce begins to protest, but Tony's already getting up, heading for the wet bar that seems to be present in at least one form or another on each of the top ten floors of Stark Tower. ('A' tower, as Tony's started calling it while repairs are being made. With a long 'ah' sound. It's not as clever as he thinks, but Bruce lets him have it.)

"You can owe me one. Interest free for six months," Tony says, pulling open what Bruce had thought to be a mini-fridge. It's a humidor, in actuality, neatly arranged. "And we'll have to go outside. So - maybe - some pants? You'd be surprised what the press can accomplish with a telescopic lense. Not that they'd really _need_ one."

Tony throws off inappropriate , offhand compliments without thinking about them, but Bruce still hasn't quite gotten past blushing. It encourages Tony. And then, it seems, as quick as that - as the haziness and comfort fades down to a level it's easier to think around, Bruce has discovered something it really is OK to do. As he casts about on the floor to find his pants, Bruce feels amazed. It had just slipped on over him, as easily as that. He peels himself off the couch with a cautious look back.

"It's seen worse," Tony assures him, without looking up from what he's doing. Bruce drags on his pants, and takes Tony's word for it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Please," Tony says, tossing the metal band, and the secondary paper wrapper into the ash tray balanced on the table between them. He's poured drinks for both of them, too. "Smoke your hundred dollar cigar and deal with the smell in your clothes. This isn't the sixties."

Tony Stark's 'patio' is the only one in the city with a view like _this_. The weather is warm enough that Bruce doesn't regret not wearing a shirt, as he and Tony lounge in suspended weight chairs. Stark hands him a hefty cigar that's approximately half the size of a patriot missile.

"No smoking jacket?" Bruce asks, inspecting the cigar - he's never actually had one. It seems heavy, until he realizes the maker's band around it is actually _metal_. The date stamped in it is ten years past. 

"Please," Tony says, tossing the metal band, and the secondary paper wrapper into the ash tray balanced on the table between them. He's poured drinks for both of them, too. "Smoke your hundred dollar cigar and deal with the smell in your clothes. This isn't the sixties." 

"It's not-" Bruce starts, looking at the cigar again. That much, really?

"Cuban? No. Dominican - those are legal. The whole 'Cuban cigars are better' thing is a myth. People just want what they can't have." Tony applies a circular punch to the capped end of his cigar and then runs the other end over the steady, invisible flame of his fancy lighter.

Bruce shakes his head and hands his over for preparation. Tony arches his eyebrows mid-puff, and then just hands his cigar over. Bruce could hardly be squeamish about it at this point. 

"Don't inhale it," Tony warns him, and Bruce laughs. It seems surreal.

"Don't you worry about, you know - _cancer_?" Bruce half-jokes, covering his own inexperience, as tony repeats the process a second time, then sits back. The picture of relaxation. 

"With our line of work, you think I'm concerned about _cancer_? Bruce, if the alien invasions, a propulsor malfunction, or the shrapnel in my chest doesn't kill me first, then I'll quit and fund more research," Tony explains, around a mouthful of smoke. "And I've already heard some promising things from R &D. So - enjoy your cigar." 

Bruce really has no argument for that. He has no basis for comparison except the occasional guilty cigarette when he was a student, and there really _is_ no comparison. The cigar is surprisingly good - not harsh, like he expected, and so long as he doesn't try to breathe the smoke, it doesn't make him cough.

"I'd be more worried about _Pepper_ , if she caught us smoking inside," Tony continues, as if he'd never stopped to light up. "A girl says she likes the smell, then kicks you out, right?"

Bruce startles. The casual reference caught him off-guard to something he's been trying to decide if it's rude to ask or not. He hasn't seen Pepper at all since his arrival and - well, what just happened makes that question seem a little more important.

"Speaking of," Bruce starts, after taking a bracing puff of cigar and almost having to cough it out. "Pepper...?"

Tony takes his meaning instantly, shining eyes telling Bruce that Tony's surprised he waited _this_ long. 

"Pepper? She took her share and decided to vacation the stress away in the Bahamas. 'Girls only' - which is why she took Happy, I guess," Tony pulls out his smart phone and slides his fingers over the screen, setting his cigar aside to trail smoke in the ash tray. " _But_ , it's not exactly like I'm hiding all this from her. Hi, Pepper. Say 'hi' to Pepper, Bruce?"

"What?" Bruce asks, left behind. Mentally, he tries to calculate the current time in the Bahamas. 

" _Hi_ , Bruce," Pepper answers, warmly and sincerely. Without missing her stride. Bruce envies her seemingly effortless ability to keep up with Tony Stark. "Tony's taking care of you okay? Sorry I'm not there."

"I'm," Bruce starts -but it seems like he's not really expected to take any real part in the conversation.

"You are _so_ not sorry - and we're doing _great_ , Pepper, by the way. How's your vacation?"

"My twenty percent of a vacation?" Pepper answers, just as quickly as she was asked. Tony smiles, impressed by the sting.

"She talked me up from twelve," he tells Bruce, who feels bereft of any solid ground to stand on and collect his thoughts. "We miss you. Here. Bruce and I. What do you think about _that_?"

"Miss me all you want, Tony. I've got a week left - I'll see you and Bruce then."

"Are you sure it's not like, twenty percent of a week? Because that would be like one point four two days. Thirty four hours and eight minutes is not a lot of time to make sure there's enough good champagne for when you get back."

"Seven days, Tony," Pepper answers, probably about the only person who could get away with Tony's not so subtle hints and still stay in his good graces - in fact he almost seems to like her _more_ for it. "See what you can do with a hundred and sixty eight hours. See you soon, too, Bruce."

"Have a good vacation, Miss Potts," is all Bruce can manage to add to the conversation, feeling like someone's spun him around at a birthday and told him to go hit the pinata.

Tony slides several controls on the touch screen of his phone to terminate the call. Jarvis had relayed the whole call over the invisible speakers that apparently extended even to the outside areas of the Stark tower, and assisted the responses with directional microphones, but the call had still originated on Stark's smartphone. 

"That means she likes you," Tony coaches, helpfully. It gives Bruce a direction to start thinking in, anyway. 

"I'm - what." Bruce isn't sure there's a possible response to that, so he rescues the drink Tony had poured for him, balancing his cigar in his other hand as he has a sip. It's a delay but it gives Bruce enough time to get his thoughts together. "How does any of what she said translate to 'it's okay you're having sex with my boyfriend'?"

"She'd have let you know to be gone if she didn't approve," Tony explains, leaning back in his chair again and looking deeply satisfied with his life. "Politely - you know - 'Sorry I'll miss you.' _I_ think she's hoping for a threesome."

Bruce chokes on his drink and Tony enjoys the victory of his perfect timing with a self-satisfied chuckle. It takes time for Bruce to get his thoughts back together - though he does briefly indulge his imagination - and he decides finally that until he hears otherwise from Pepper, he's not going to let Tony Stark speak for her wishes.

"Was there a point to all that?" Bruce asks at last, though he knows he should probably feel foolish for having to ask, holding things over Bruce is at least not one of Tony's bad habits. 

"The point, Bruce," Tony says, affectionately, as if he'd been waiting for the question. His voice is warm and content, and he forms his words around mouthfuls of smoke. "Is that you're _welcome_ here. There's nothing about this or us to feel guilty about or ashamed of. Though if you go all National Enquirer on me, we might have an issue." 

 

Bruce laughs, and then after a moment, he remembers that things weren't - couldn't be as normal as all that. He's grateful to Tony for giving him the opportunity to forget, even for a minute or two. They could pretend to be normal, maybe for a week, or for a month, and he was glad for that much but - "I don't think they'd even believe me, Tony."

"Don't," Tony says, just like that. "Everything isn't over forever, no matter how it feels right now - though I hope I haven't been treating you that badly."

"It's not - it's hardly _that_ ," Bruce starts, and finds it harder to continue with Stark's full attention on him. "It's just - how is it okay for me to even try to be... _okay_?"

"You seem to be doing pretty well, all that fatalism aside," Tony answers, realizing he needs to move his gaze. He looks back at the view and the pressure of his attention eases off of Bruce, even though he knows Tony is still _listening_. "Maybe for the rest of the world - normal people, I mean. I doubt the planet gives a crap. I have seen some weird shit though, so maybe. What they have to see for _them_ to understand it's alright is for _you_ to be alright. You can only pay penance for so long before you have to change it up and pay it forward."

Tony gives Bruce a wry smile, sidelong, and then puts his mouth with deliberate suggestion on his cigar to take a big puff before continuing. 

"A legacy is given to you. Your _future_ you get to pick." Tony seems extremely pleased with himself. "I bet that sounds great in Latin. Jarvis?" 

"Yes, sir?" The computer wakes - if it was ever really _not_ paying attention, which Bruce doubts.

"Translate that to Latin." Tony orders, and Jarvis acknowledges, probably waking some Latin professor at this unconscionably late hour to confirm what the program automatically generated.

"Tony," Bruce speaks up, "The problem is that my past - my not so much past. The _other guy_ is _still_ here, and he can still wake up at any point, and when he does-"

"He listened to Rodgers," Stark cuts off Bruce's statement, and for a moment, that irritates Bruce. But - Tony lets him speak when he's genuinely revealing something. This was just another warning, another stay of attachment.

"Why?" Tony is asking him, when Bruce lets his irritation go with a sigh - it didn't help to hold on to it.

"Tony, that's not-"

"Don't dismiss it. You don't like it when people dismiss your actions. Maybe the _other guy_ doesn't care for it, either." Tony exhales smoke, examines the ash on the end of his cigar. "Why'd he listen to Rodgers? Was it the spangly suit? His fantastic ass? Was he hypnotized by the useless zippers in every place but where he'd _need_ a zipper?" 

"No one's ever asked the _other guy_ to do something important before," Bruce realizes - and well, of course not! Getting the Hulk to stand still and listen wasn't really possible under normal circumstances - yet, when the opportunity had been there... he _had_.

"I don't know how he relieves himself," Tony continues, apparently still ruminating on Captain America's groin. Bruce wouldn't bet money on Tony having missed what he'd said, however. Bruce plays dumb, tries to monkey-wrench Tony's train of thought.

"The _other guy_? He just goes where he wants, like those old four hundred pound gorilla jokes."

"Captain America," Tony corrects, unnecessarily.

"I don't know how _you_ go to the bathroom," Bruce realizes.

"Ask me again on my birthday." Tony answers - and there's a _story_ there, Bruce is sure, but he's not sure that he _wants_ it. 

"I'd never really thought about it," Bruce starts, hoping Tony might forget the whole thing.

"Rodger's ass? Good." Tony says, stubbing out his cigar and giving Bruce a look that said 'two can play the thought-sabotage game'. "I get jealous."

"Sir?" Jarvis interrupts the conversation, politely. "Tibi legatum est. Tibi ad colligunt futura."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony Stark seems intent on giving Bruce one 'normal' week, which possibly means more to Bruce than he could ever express. He had been at a stage in his life where he was just willing to live as he was. Strangely, he'd never really consciously decided that he as living the way he intended to for the rest of his life. He had just settled into it, like a rut. Like it was the only possible place for him.

Tony Stark seems intent on giving Bruce one 'normal' week, which possibly means more to Bruce than he could ever express. He had been at a stage in his life where he was just willing to live as he was. Strangely, he'd never really consciously decided that he as living the way he intended to for the rest of his life. He had just settled into it, like a rut. Like it was the only possible place for him.

Part of it had been the day-to-day nature of abandoning any self-interest and acting as a doctor for anyone who could use one. And there were a lot of needy people in the world, which had led him place to place mindlessly. At the beginning, that had really helped. Bruce had run from one emergency to the next - never slowing down. It didn't give him time to think, time to realize how angry he was.

That had helped. Where he would say the experience of running until he collapsed, then picking himself up again had matured him, Tony might rightly say that it had _aged_ him, instead. Both were probably true. 

For six days, they don't speak about the _other guy_. Tony doesn't look at him like anyone but Bruce Banner, and they discuss all sorts of things. Theoretical physics, childhood heroes, movies that Bruce had missed. Movies that _Tony_ had somehow missed. And the sex, which Bruce found equally more surreal and more grounding each time it happened. Tony was impossible.

"Not impossible," he argues, leaning back in bed with his shirt off, while Bruce catches his breath and debates if actually tying Tony down would work and if that would be a breech of trust or not.

"No, I'm pretty sure you're _actually_ impossible," Bruce disagrees. "You're still wearing pants." 

Tony of course has no argument, because he _is_ , so he just looks amused. He likes to be contrary to expectations - which affected Bruce, even though he was only barely familiar with what those expectations _were_. Because the world believed that Tony Stark - billionaire, genius, playboy, philanthropist - was mostly out for himself in life. Because they believed he'd shuck his pants for any pretty face with female genitalia (neither of which Bruce possessed), Bruce was stuck fighting an uphill battle to actually return any sexual favors.

He hadn't even seen Tony naked. Most of the way, sure, when they were swimming or dressing. Stark wasn't shy or hiding anything. He was just _distracting_ and _insistent_. Bruce was still working out exactly what that was supposed to be leading (or pushing) him toward. In his own way, Tony's being patient with him. 

And Tony hardly lives the usual executive lifestyle, either. Bruce discovers how much of a day Tony actually spends working - not just thinking about working, but actually with his hands on a project. He has no idea how the man keeps it up. He doesn't hide anything from Bruce - not even 'top secret suit stuff' as he puts it, which, smart as Bruce is, isn't his field. Tony just seems to appreciate that Bruce can keep up if Tony explains and Bruce asks enough questions.

The week is normal enough to allow a round of golf, which Tony hates, but he does every week anyway to keep up public appearances. The reporters that show up are kept roped away, reduced to taking pictures with long distance lenses and shouting questions between players setting up their shots. Tony studiously ignores their very existence.

"You're not going to play?" Tony asks him, at the first hole. "It's better if you're drunk, I'll admit but - show a little team spirit."

"Tony, I've never played golf in my life," Bruce defends himself, but he knows he's not getting out of this. Stark looks at him like he's a unicorn, and Bruce picks a golf club at random.

"What kind of _doctor_ are you?" he asks in disbelief. "Never played _golf_." 

Bruce misses on the first two swings before he understands the dynamics of motion that are really required in order to hit the ball and not the ground. Then he misses again - serenely - before he launches the ball almost fifty yards into the rough. Tony just watches, wordlessly, over his sunglasses. If he hadn't believed Bruce before, he did now.

"You're on," Bruce challenges back, unashamed. The truth is, it feels so natural and human to be learning something so - practically useless. He doesn't mind being bad at it.

"Come here," Tony tells him, fouling the photographers chances for any incriminating evidence by leading Bruce behind the golf cart. "Here, hold your club Captain Caveman. I'm not even going to get into what's wrong with just grabbing the biggest iron out of the back, let alone the Freudian implications there. But at least you're going to _hold_ it right."

Bruce lines himself up like he's about to take a shot, and Tony rearranges his hands, tips his shoulders, straightens his back, and then steps in behind him. Tony's hands on Bruce's wrists and his breath practically pushing into Bruce's ear, he shows Bruce the proper twist and dynamics of a swing. "That'll at least get you started," he murmurs.

The proximity gets _something_ started, anyway. Up close, Tony Stark feels like he's all kinetic. He gives no sign of it, but the arc reactor put out a lot of energy, and it seemed to almost hum with it. Tony's heartbeat was almost hidden under the subtle vibrations that the reactor put out. In a way, it almost _was_ his heartbeat, and it suited him. From any distance, it was imperceptible but with Tony's back against Bruce's chest he could feel it. It transferred through contact, and it's so uniquely, intimately Tony that Bruce has another moment of irreality.

Tony takes his silence for its exact meaning and laughs - stepping back and patting Bruce encouragingly on the shoulder. It's then when Bruce realizes how much he actually likes Tony. Not just as a friend (who happens to be divine at the art of finding secondary applications for his overly clever mouth) and not just as a fellow scientist or teammate. His first thought is to wonder how dangerous that is.

His second is that they'll probably find out. Tony isn't going to drop this or let Bruce retreat from it.

"Smile when you miss," Tony coaches him. "Or look pissed, I guess. Nice to make the reporters a little nervous now and then."

"This game is never going to end," Bruce promises, but he laughs. "Hitting a golf ball is one thing, but there's no way I'm going to be able to make it go where I want."

"I'll help. We'll work it out." They play abysmally, but laugh the entire time. Bruce is sure that whatever pictures wind up on social media sites or even in the newspaper are going to look ridiculous, but he adopts Tony's policy of not caring. 

What matters is Tony isn't afraid of Bruce's failure, isn't nervous about doing something potentially frustrating. He isn't afraid to win - which he does, handily. But by the last hole, even Bruce has to admit he's getting better. The game takes all day, and probably other tee time groups are piling up behind them and getting canceled, but snubbing snooty golf club members is just part and parcel of friendship with Tony Stark. Even the press has gotten bored of watching two minor celebrities play bad golf, so Tony helps him putt the last hole when Bruce manages to get the ball onto the green.

"Well we only went through like - _six_ \- cans of golf balls, but on this hole at least you'll be in at less than double par." Tony's constant talking is starting to be so familiar its comforting. "So that'll be probably - triple par for the course."

"I have never," Bruce answers, focusing and stretching his words as his attention goes away from speaking them and down to his and Tony's hands together on the golf club. "Actually heard that term used in its intended context."

Between the two of them, because Bruce relaxes his arms and lets Tony take over, they sink the putt. It's a minor victory, but Bruce feels it distinctly, and can't help his smile.

"Here's another one for you. That's a hole in one... hundred or so. Give or take. I don't think the one that hit the duck counts." Tony straightens up, looking after the golf clubs. "I'm pretty sure there's some kind of waterfowl mulligan rule."

Bruce claims the scorecard off the golf cart to discover the entire record of their game apparently consists of a stick figure doodle of Iron Man (the helmet is distinguishable at least) repulsor blasting a group of stick figures into a water hazard. The group is helpfully labeled 'bad'.

Bruce snorts.

" _That's_ an early Picasso. You'll see," Tony brags, over Bruce's shoulder to see what has his attention. "I could sign it for you." 

"Is this a good score or a bad score?" Bruce laughs, giving the paper back to Tony.

"Hopefully an _improving_ score. In two weeks we'll be missing for _charity_ , doctor. You'd better hope Lightning or Romanov sucks worse so we can have an appropriately functioning bell curve of awful."

"We'll be - doing what?" Bruce asks, as they finish loading equipment and climb back into the golf cart. Tony obviously hates the golf cart - probably because its top speed capability appears to be about two miles an hour. " _What's_ in two weeks?"

"Avengers publicity piece," Tony says casually. "I said I'd tell you. I told you. Now you've been told. We're going to play a nice friendly round of super-golf for things like Greenpeace and children's hospitals. I jockeyed for 'Strippers with Babies', but apparently we don't get to pick our own. I think the legalese under that clause was pretty much: 'so Tony Stark doesn't pick something inappropriate'."

Bruce is equal parts amused and horrified. "So which one did I get?"

"Susan B. Komen foundation. They couldn't give it to Romanov, it would look sexist. Don't worry, buddy, we traded." Tony reaches out to pat Bruce's shoulder affectionately, like he doesn't mind making the sacrifice.

"You- of course you did," Bruce's surprise fades quickly. Tony was perhaps the second biggest advocate of a healthy pair of breasts behind Susan B. Komen herself. "So what do I have now?"

"World Wildlife Federation."

"Wild, un-tamable animals," Bruce observes wryly, "Sure."

"Could have been People for the Eradication of Thoughtful Actions," Tony argues. "I hope that wasn't an actual option."

That would make two of them. "Well I'm actually kind of sorry that I'll be playing so poorly."

"It'll work out. We have two weeks to make you a respectable player. That means no more playing a whole course with the eleven wood, but..." Tony parks the golf car and tosses the keys to the attendant without completing the statement. "Besides, I have the feeling that no matter how well the rest of us play, Barton will make us all look like idiots with sticks."

"He plays?" Bruce asks - he really doesn't know the rest of the team very well. It turns out that saving the world and eating shawarma together still left you a lot of personal ground to cover.

"Safe money, even if he doesn't, is 'yes'." Tony answers, making some sense. Aiming projectiles - seemed to be Barton's thing. 

"So what's - which charity did _he_ get?"

"Let's Re-Build New York."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I got sore too when I first started," Tony explains, leaning over the back of Bruce's chair and nudging the back of his head with his knuckles to get him to lean forward. "So I designed this. Those regular ones are kind of a quack, but magnetic pain therapy has a good basis. This one has rare-earth magnets in it."

Bruce's arms and shoulder quickly settle into soreness, but he feels good anyway. Tony notice his stiffness after dinner, makes a thoughtful noise and fetches something from a drawer. It seems to be a thick string, interspersed with four plastic capsules which Bruce takes at first for beads. Two of them turn out to be halves of a snap-clasp, similar to a breakaway catch on a dog collar but rounded. 

"I got sore too when I first started," Tony explains, leaning over the back of Bruce's chair and nudging the back of his head with his knuckles to get him to lean forward. "So I designed this. Those regular ones are kind of a quack, but magnetic pain therapy has a good basis. This one has rare-earth magnets in it."

He clips it in place and it seems to activate. Bruce can almost feel the magnets pulling to each other _through_ him, against his sore collar bone. There's a soft noise as the plastic clasp collides with the metal edge of Tony's reactor, magnetized.

Bruce reaches up instinctively to pull it away and changes his mind at the last second. He tangles his hand in Tony's shirt - soft, old, and well-worn - and takes advantage of his forward angled lean to yank him over the back of the chair down over his shoulder and into his lap. The chance to ruin Tony's dignity a little and see the shocked expression on his features is worth the risk of his displeasure, which is not remotely the result. 

Bruce thought it wouldn't be. He's smart but his intelligence isn't as lightning fast as Tony's. He'd spent almost a week on this puzzle, but finally realized that in order to get Tony where he wanted him, at least in _this_ regard, he would have to assert himself and _make_ the man's mind shut down, just a little. So, having the momentary advantage, he presses it. 

He pushes one hand over Tony's sternum, the heel of it lifted to avoid pressing too hard on any delicate equipment. The other goes straight down, palming with more assurance over the expensive fabric at the join of Tony's legs. Bruce finds him already responding, hears the dry click of his throat as he swallows instinctively, preparatory to opening his mouth to pull in more air. He doesn't miss how dark and reflective Tony's eyes have gone, trying to express some complex combination of emotions.

Bruce can't quite sort them _all_ out, but he can tell how much Tony is interested. He cups his hand and pushes the palm of it firmly over Tony's growing erection and watches the pull of tendons in Tony's neck when he swallows again and pulls air in, hissing. The position is awkward, Tony half laid out over Bruce's lap, but it leaves Tony completely accessible while making reciprocation (and therefore distraction) difficult. 

Tony's already starting to shift, trying to get them into a better position, so Bruce pushes harder on his chest. He doesn't exactly know if this - whole thing, really, is okay but while he has the edge he takes advantage of it. Tony's an adult, capable of protesting something he doesn't want and he's not so afraid of Bruce - of the _other guy_ , really - that he wouldn't object. So Bruce presses him in place and finally kisses him, taking advantage of his open, panting mouth.

The noise Tony makes into it isn't protest, it's half challenge and the rest encouragement. Bruce takes a liberty with Tony's zipper, and it's probably one of the most ridiculous milestones Bruce has ever counted, conquering it, but - it was harder than it should have been between his nerves and Tony's attitude.

Bruce curls his fingers around skin, but he keeps both his hand and Tony's hard on in the confines of the man's pants, stroking with this limited range of movement until Tony's ready to surrender.

"They come off. They're detachable," it's not a complaint, exactly, but it is breathy and Tony's tipped his head back, well on his way to complete surrender.

"Your pants?" Bruce guesses, affecting ignorance of exactly how much easier their movements would be without the constraint.

"I'd like them off," Tony agrees.

"That makes two of us," Bruce punctuates his words with just enough of a squeeze on his next stroke that Tony can't respond straight away, but he's obviously having trouble trying to figure out why he's still wearing them if they both want them off. Victory.

"So-" Tony starts sharply, halfway demanding, and Bruce stops, warns him with the threat that he'll stop what he's doing entirely, and Tony gets the idea without Bruce having to _say_ anything. Instead he takes a shaky breath and changes his tone. "Please."

Bruce isn't about to make Tony crawl or anything (though when he thinks about it, he _might_ be able to), but _that_ feels pretty good. He's been given control of the whole situation that way, and he knows he's capable. He tries to help Tony with his pants, but by this point all he does is get two good hand holds at the waistband and Tony contorts his way out of them and into a more upright position in Bruce's lap. 

"Yeah," Tony agrees, when Bruce looks up at him, before the question is even asked. "Better."

Bruce already knows most of Tony, and the rest is new but not out of alignment with the rest of his figure. There are old scars that trail low on his belly, probably shrapnel, and then dark pubic hair that seems to be only exactly where it's appropriate to be and nowhere else, giving him a cleaner look. Also he's hard as hell and settling his weight pointedly over Bruce's thighs.

Taking the hint, Bruce swipes his tongue over his thumb roughly and reaches down to stroke again. He can feel how every motion affects Tony, translated through the proximity of their legs and how Tony's muscles tense (when Bruce pauses at the base of his shaft) and tremble (as his fingers draw near the head). Bruce curls his free hand around Tony's hip and presses his thumb into the skin behind the protective jut of hipbone, bearing down on the pressure point with just enough force that Tony won't be able to ignore it. Tony draws in a sharp breath and it's like turning off the switch that censors some of his thoughts from finding his voice. 

"That's new," he murmurs, twisting his body and dropping his cheek onto Bruce's shoulder so the intimate tone can't be missed, spoken just into Bruce's ear as it is. "You can press a little - nnh. Yeah. Harder."

His voice changes and his hips surge into the motion when Bruce anticipates the request. Tony's voice continues, broken by entreaties or expletives.

"You have rougher hands than I'd have guessed. Noticed when we shook but - god, that's incredible," Tony continues, almost nonsensically. Bruce doubts he even realizes he's speaking, that's probably lost somewhere between dull pain and pleasure. "I love it when you assert yourself. When you're not only in control, you're letting yourself _feel_ like you are. Can be a little rougher if you like. Let me feel it."

Bruce somehow understands that Tony is utterly fascinated with Bruce's ability to be in control. It's more than a little funny - except where it stings. He strokes harder, and Tony's voice goes quiet for only a moment. Bruce can still feel him forming words against his shoulder, and he makes a frustrated noise of his own. He slides his hand back from Tony's hip, suddenly _wanting_. He shows Tony his rough edges, pushing his index and middle fingers against Tony's anus, rubbing a circle. He has control enough to deal with the _other guy_ every second of his life, he can take Tony at his wildest.

And somehow, that's what Tony _wants_.

"Yeah, Bruce - that it? The edge? I don't think so. I think we can go a little-" Tony groans mid sentence, reaching down between them with some reserve of presence of mind , sliding the flat of his hand against Bruce's erection where he finds it encumbered in Bruce's pants. "Further. But not - without-"

"Where?" Bruce asks, forceful - surprised at his own tone, but not the way Tony responds to it, jerking like an electric current surged through him and trying to push faster into Bruce's grip. Bruce uncurls his fingers and lifts his hand to splay at Tony's collar bone, pushing him back until their eyes can meet. Tony actually manages half a lopsided and daring grin, but something in Bruce's attitude hurries him past any chance of playful challenge.

"My pocket," Tony answers, but he's already reaching for it, keeping his hand on Bruce. It's just like Tony to produce it casually from the pocket of his dress shirt, in a hurry and without any flourish. It's single use with a tear-to-open design. Bruce's hands are busy.

"Open it," he tells Tony, and Tony's response is half interrupted by the application of his teeth to the notched corner.

"You're this distracting and you want _me_ to open it? Okay this might be about to get a little bit - damp." But he doesn't spill it very far. If Bruce times a stroke to see if Tony - and his running mouth - can cope with it, it's only a little vindictive. The responding instinctive tightening of Tony's fingers covers his hand with lube.

"Well, that's good enough." Tony decides, and reaches back, lifting himself. The transfer of possession is sloppy, with Tony passing the leaking packet into Bruce's applied hand directly and more or less wiping the rest of it from his fingers onto Bruce's. "This is... messy. And hilarious."

Bruce doesn't bother responding. When his fingers are slick enough he reapplies them to what they were doing, pushing and seeking entrance this time, slickly and without any teasing. 

Tony's whole focus changes with the unspoken request and he stops talking for just long enough to drop his still-slick fingers onto the hand Bruce still has on his cock. He stops the rhythm, tightening his fingers on Bruce's wrist to convey his point and then-

Tony just _opens_ for him, straightening his back and unerringly relaxing every muscle until Bruce's fingers slide all the way home. Every ounce of blood in Bruce's body seems to surge downward suddenly and if he's ever wanted anything more than Tony Stark at this moment he's having trouble remembering it.

"Only as impossible as I want to be," Tony breathes into his ear, and Bruce decides to be surprised later, instead curling his fingers and hooking them toward Tony's front until _he_ can almost see the stars Tony must be, can feel the whole shock of it through Tony's body.

"You're right," Tony gasps, "Now is - good. Now is great."

He's undoing Bruce's zipper in needy, mindless movements, threatening to catch sensitive flesh in zipper teeth, but Tony's past caring. Prudently, Bruce helps, gets the button. Tony's hands move out of the way and come back with a condom. Bruce doesn't comment on how good of an idea it was for Tony to use his teeth on the package.

"You're gorgeous and you act like you aren't," Tony's saying, his voice higher and tighter with tension. "I thought maybe you knew and you'd forgotten, but maybe you never did. And this is impressive, too."

Tony's slick-fingered stroke is demonstrative. Direct. Bruce groans, and then takes the situation back.

"God, yes." Tony is only mouthing the words but Bruce feels them against his chest. He stretches more slowly around the girth of Bruce's cock but still with enough ease that it can't be hurting him. " _Right_ like that."

Tony doesn't let him stay still for long, he's starting to lift himself almost as soon as they settle, one arm curled lazily, but with evidence Tony's strength, around Bruce's shoulder and neck. The other is what Tony's putting his teeth into when he's not talking. Bruce gets both hands on Tony's hips and pulls him down sharply, holds him still.

"Okay - I'm in a rush," Tony agrees, almost conversationally. Bruce isn't sure where his mind _is_ exactly. "But is that really a surprise? Let's rush a little. Bruce. Please."

Bruce holds him there for long enough to make Tony repeat his plea, and he can feel Tony winding up with need, his muscles resisting being held in place. He waits until he can feel Tony's about to start talking again, probably in a whole frustrated burst of words, and then he _moves_.

The loud, wordless cry Tony gives, breaking needily in the middle is Bruce's extremely satisfying reward, and he lets Tony go, tries to outpace him.

They shift and the whole dynamic has to change because Tony is arching and pushing, asking wordlessly for more than this position can give them. Demanding in a way that makes Bruce want to take even that much control out of Tony's hands. Tony's still holding on somewhere to his thoughts. The hard way he's pushing himself, event he demanding rush of his breath and how Bruce an feel his quick heartbeat even over the reactor's thrum suggests he's trying as hard as Bruce is to put himself past that point. 

Bruce curls his hands under Tony's thighs and on one punishing upward surge he pushes and lifts Tony off of him. He keeps lifting on one side until Tony is forced to catch his balance on one bent knee - gasping harshly for breath and cracking one eye open as he realizes Bruce is getting up. When he doesn't see any obvious signs of distress-

"Now is _not_ a good time," Tony scolds - and words mean he's already getting himself collected. Bruce doesn't want to have to fight that uphill battle again, so he just shoves Tony into unbalance. 

"I know," Bruce answers, leaving Tony facing into the plush back of the chair, which Stark grips onto by looping both his arms all the way over it. It gives him purchase when Bruce gets ahold of his hips and shifts him suggestively into a wider stance that forces Tony to arch his back downward and practically hang from his grip on the back of the chair. Bruce's push back in isn't slow, but he retains his care. Tony's just as ready for him, and Bruce leans all the way down along Tony's back.

He curls an arm around Tony's side and grips Tony's opposite shoulder at the join to his neck and he can feel the ongoing hum of the arc reactor against the soft skin of his inner arm. _It_ at least is steady, unchanging. Bruce makes good use of this leverage, lifting one knee between Tony's to brace on the seat of the chair. 

They both let go, and he pushes, thrusts hard without fear of losing his control or breaking Tony. He has enough control for both of them, it seems, and Tony is pushing back just as hard. When Bruce gets close, he reaches for Tony - and barely has to close his fingers around the head of his cock before Tony's coming through them, and translating the waves of his orgasm through the whole of his body. Bruce isn't far behind him. 

His knees refuse to support him afterwards, and Bruce sinks to the floor while Tony smears himself bonelessly into the chair. He seems to be out of words - and grateful for it. It's not as awkward as it should be when Tony slides onto the floor with him and curls against Bruce's side. While they catch their breath for a moment, then can both just be human.


	6. Chapter 6

They meet Pepper's helicopter on the roof while Bruce pretends that his hips, thighs, and the muscles at the small of his back - conversely, everything _but_ his shoulders - aren't embarrassingly sore. Tony's magnetic necklace worked, it seemed. Even if it did shift in an extremely suggestive way every time he and Tony got close, making Bruce even more aware of his presence. 

"Welcome back to 'aa' tower Pepper," Tony greets her expansively, openly warm. "Now that the majority shareholder has returned, I hope we can start a few more repairs."

"Leave the Loki dent," Pepper says, looking at Bruce with a pointed and welcoming smile over Tony's shoulder as they embrace, quickly. "It's a nice touch."

"Sure. We can put a rug over it."

Bruce shoves his hands in his pockets, not sure what wheel he should really feel like. He's about to stammer some kind of apology for still being here when Pepper lets go of tony and moves straight for him next. The hug she greets Bruce with falls on him unexpected - but hardly unwelcome, and he manages an embarrassed chuckle. 

"Thank you," she tells him, as he jerks his hands out of his pockets awkwardly and tries to find someplace polite to put them - Pepper's dress is open in the back, so her bare shoulders seem like they should be off limits, but putting his hands around her middle seems too intimate. He curls his hands around her upper arms instead.

"For - what? Redecorating?" he asks, perplexed.

She laughs and gives him a squeeze. Pepper is stronger than she looks, in both simple physicality and personality. When she draws back and doesn't entirely let go, Bruce looks helplessly at Tony. 

"For saving the planet," she elaborates. "And Tony. Mostly the planet, though."

Tony play-acts his injury at her false priority behind her back, in the corner of Bruce's field of view. Just like that, Bruce is one of the family.

"I had a little help with the planet," Bruce admits. Pepper smiles and starts to pick up her bag, but Tony beats her to it. 

"Victoria Potts-" Tony starts to introduce them, belatedly.

"Pepper," she insists, curling one hand through Tony's crooked arm, and the other under Bruce's elbow as they walk.

"Doctor Bruce Banner," Tony finishes.

"A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Potts," Bruce tells her, sincerely. He isn't sure yet if this is going to work, but right now, mostly due to Pepper's total openness and lack of reserve - two reasons she obviously complimented Tony Stark - he felt okay to try. He's - well, Bruce knows he'll have to be careful. It hurts, in a dangerous way, to think he might have to break this off already, especially after Tony's gone so far out of his way. It's a warning sign, but not the point of no return, yet. He's going to need to talk about it, which might break what seemed to be the Tony standard of letting things go on implied understanding without putting terms to anything.

Bruce's barrier walls are slowly coming down and while he may have been stricter with himself than was absolutely necessary, at first it was what he'd needed. When Tony's hand slides companionably around Bruce's shoulders, he feels - exposed. Unstable. But the truth was, most people eventually learned to ride without training wheels. The difference, Bruce allows, is that most people didn't level a city block when they fell off the bike.

"How was your vacation?" Bruce asks, when they're inside and finally disengaged. Tony drops Pepper's luggage in a corner and goes for the bar. 

"Not as isolated as I'd hoped." Pepper's answer is cryptic, but her glance at Tony is implicit, along with her smile. "But a nice change of pace. Sunny, you know. Worried about aliens."

"I only called you like - _twice_. A day." Tony answers her implied accusation without looking up from opening the bottle. "Except Tuesday. Tuesday was a bad day."

"We had the windows put back in," Pepper explains, possibly for Bruce's benefit. Bruce remembers, anyway.

"Yeah," Tony agrees. "And I have an issue with unexpected people in my space." Tony pours three glasses with a grimace. "A memo would have been nice."

"I sent two," Pepper laughs. "I'm not going to send you a reminder of what day of the week it actually is. Maybe listen to Jarvis a little more."

"I never ignore Jarvis," Tony says, defensively, as he puts Pepper's glass down on the table at her elbow. She's kicking off her shoes to go comfortably barefoot. "Sometimes I put him on mute."

Pepper makes an 'exactly' gesture while she drinks her champagne, without making any bigger issue out of it. Tony places Bruce's glass where he can reach it, and then settles in, lord and master of the room (and the entire 'aa' tower, Bruce would admit.) Bruce is positive that his inactivity will last less than five minutes total, and from the corner of his eye he sees Pepper glancing at her watch as if in a similar wager with herself.

"Sir," Jarvis is the first to interrupt, just when Bruce is toying nervously with his glass in the silence that seems comfortable for _two_ of them, anyway. "I'm supposed to remind you-"

"Mute," Tony's absent voice cuts Jarvis short. His attention is drifting to some other idea while he watches the late afternoon settle over the city through the grudgingly replaced windows. He's at least going through the motions of drinking, but Bruce recognizes his wandering mind. Whenever Tony's truly content, he seems to become inspired as well.

"Tony, did you remember to pick your suit up from the dry-cleaner for Saturday?" Pepper asks, looking down at the miniaturized display Jarvis has mapped onto the table by her hand. Bruce admires the intelligence programmed into the machine - it seemed to know how to work around Tony by using his surroundings - and friends. 

"Um," Tony says, dragging his eyes and attention back from the scaffoldings covering the surrounding blocks. " _No_. I have a lot of suits. Is this an important suit?"

Bruce tries to remember what Saturday is. He's actually in the process of fishing his cell phone out of his pocket to see if he's kept a note, when he realizes it could easily be something related to Stark Industries. Or maybe not - Pepper's expression is actually disappointed.

"Saturday," she prompts again, helpfully. Tony actually checks his watch and appears to do a little mental math.

"The funeral," he remembers, at length. 

"The funeral, yes." Pepper agrees.

"The-?" Bruce is about to ask, but he realizes, belatedly. S.H.I.E.L.D. is one man down, which with all the other casualties could have been a lot worse. He has a brief memory of snatching a pilot's ejector seat out of midair on a plummeting jet - and letting it go again after a supreme effort of will. The body count could have easily been a lot higher, given how easily Loki had turned them all against each other.

"I'll get the suit tomorrow," Tony promises, his tone soft to the point of apology. 

" _I'll_ get the suit," Pepper answers tiredly. "Bruce, do you need anything pressed while I'm there? The Chaus are used to Mr. Stark's ridiculous rush orders by now."

"Uh," Bruce says, doing a mental inventory of clothes he's in possession of - mostly borrowed. "I'll have to pick something up."

He's not sure that what's in his bank account will support anything more pricey or fashionable than what he can get from Wal-Mart, and even that might be a stretch, but he wants to at least do his best. For this, it was worth it. He's gotten used to second hand and hand-me-downs, but that seemed disrespectful. 

"I have a tailor," Tony informs him cheerfully, like he's been waiting for the opportunity.

"Tomorrow's _Friday_ ," Bruce protests, embarrassed to have to rely so heavily on Tony's generosity.

"She's a very good tailor," Tony promises. Bruce believes it, with the way Tony always looks in his suits. It still seems like more than he should ask, and troublesome that he should have to ask at all, even if Tony goes out of his way to make it seem like no trouble at all. Bruce is totally out of his world here, and Tony is trying not to remind him, but sometimes it slips. In the end, something about the appraising way Tony's looking at him, and Pepper's tolerant eye roll, makes Bruce relent. He does finish the rest of his champagne - it makes his pride a little easier to swallow, when he washes it down with Clos d'Ambronnay.


	7. Chapter 7

In the aftermath, Tony is dangerously silent and he drives home quickly without letting his hand leave the gear shift. The ride is uncontrolled enough, unheedingly fast enough that Bruce wishes he had taken Peppers offer to ride with her and Happy. Except, seeing how stern and ill-humored Tony's expression had been, Bruce felt he shouldn't really be alone.

It's the sort of inward driven anger, that skin-crawling teeth clenched desire to do something absolutely as destructive as humanly possible that Bruce recognizes. And it's a danger to expose himself to that - Bruce is naturally empathetic, and _that_ is something familiar anyway.

He grips the armrest as Tony dares the world to chase them, in the rising evening. The centrifugal force makes Bruce aware of every slide and turn by individual degrees, and the wind pushes his new suit and shirt collars into a ruffling disarray. Tony had torn his tie off just blocks from the cemetery, and flung it out the back of the convertible as if he could shed all the silent misery of the funeral with six hundred dollars of silk fabric. The rush of wind and powerful growl of the engine make silence the only option other than shouting - screaming, really. So they don't say anything. Bruce just feels his heart rate climb the way Tony's must be - and then he just closes his eyes and does his best to disconnect, trusting his life to Tony's driving because worrying about a wreck is going to _cause_ one, if Bruce suddenly quadruples his weight and turns into something that could throw the car easily as fast and as far as it was going.

He's under control by the time they've parked, even if it takes some time for him to register that they've stopped moving. The car idles roughly, likely unused to being put through it's paces in so inconsiderate a manner. Tony jams it into park and yanks the keys out of the ignition, his motions speaking in angry economies that don't spare the car. They were machine like in precision as he worked the handle and go tout, like the way his mind was probably working in agitated but efficient bursts. Even when he's upset, he can't be entirely unreasonable. He retains efficiency - and relies on alcohol to rob him of that when he needs even it to be gone.

Bruce thinks it's about to be one of those situations, and he lingers in the car, torn as to what he can do - if he really even has a right to interfere at this point in their - whatever it is. Relationship. Friendship.

"Tony," he tries, deciding he really has to at least _try_ to distract him from this destructive emotion. It was likely to turn inward.

"Don't," is all Tony says, turning half over his shoulder, but he's not looking at Bruce, instead staring straight ahead still, and even this way Bruce sees how heavily Tony's relying on his sunglasses to mask his expression. "You can't save me from this."

The sharply tailored line from Tony's shoulder to his waist, heavily drawn in unusual black (where most of Tony's suits are grey or light colored as Bruce has learned), suggests that he doesn't _want_ to be saved. He wants to drag himself through this as penance. Like he could scour the injury off, if only hew as rough enough with himself. Perhaps he could, or at least distract himself long enough with the new hurts that the other injury could heal.

Bruce feels lost enough in the face of so familiar and intense an emotion that he has to sit down again quickly, stripping his glasses off and pressing his knuckles against his eyelids in circles until the intense feelings of inadequacy - dangerous feelings that leave his thoughts tainted green and tasting raw and flesh like in his mouth - fade. As helpless as _Bruce_ is in this situation, the _other guy_ would be a downright disaster. Tony could probably find enough ways to batter himself in the lab without the Hulk providing a convenient target. _Crushing_ Tony into sitting still would only solve the problem by eliminating all future possibilities.

By the time Bruce has calmed his breathing in counts of half ten - five in, five out - Tony's gone. But Tony's _here_ , he's home, and Pepper - if anyone knows what to do it'll be Pepper. She'll be along any minute. 

Jarvis has kept his section of the garage lit, helpfully.

"Jarvis, where's the normal elevator?" Bruce asks, looking at the private elevator control panel and supposing his handprint won't open it.

"You may access the private elevator as per my instructions if you so desire, Master Bruce," Jarvis replies. "Please place your hand palm-first on the indicated pad and we won't have to rely on voice identification in the future."

"Yeah," Bruce agrees dryly, more to himself as he places his palm on the lit rectangle. "Wouldn't want me roaring my way in."

"With all due respect, as my security features are mostly designed to work against invaders of less magnitude, I would simply open my doors if it came to that, sir."

Bruce steps into the elevator as it opens for him, and even if it _is_ totally surreal to be speaking with the tower itself in a way, it's also oddly comforting. "Smart. That's one thing about the _other guy_ ; the path of least resistance is straight through whatever's in front of him." 

If Jarvis has any further instructions on what to do if Bruce loses control, he doesn't volunteer them. 

"Which floor shall I take you to, Master Bruce?"

"You don't have to call me that - did Tony tell you to call me that?" Bruce thinks it sounds a little like Tony' s idea of a joke. 

"Mister Stark did add it to my directives," the synthesized voice admits dryly - remarkably so for an artificial construct. "However, he's given you the ability to override it with a password, if it displeases you."

"Oh god," Bruce groans, "It's not 'I am Batman', is it?" 

"That would be correct, sir."

"Jarvis, what floor is Tony on?" Bruce brushes by the lingering evidence of Tony Stark in good spirits, because it's almost painful to deal with the sort of things that Tony will come up with when he's just up to his normal sort of trouble when it's obviously just left behind and forgotten in his wake. Bruce moves on to more important things.

"He's on R and D four, sir, but I've been given strict orders to maintain his privacy."

So Tony was - working out some of his frustrations in the lab. That was _probably_ okay. Still, Bruce can't help but worry. Mourning and heavy duty machinery didn't seem like the best idea for a combination. 

"I don't suppose I could convince you to tell me if - I mean, if he's doing anything really dangerous?" Bruce asks, without much hope. "Without that being considered an intrusion?"

"Sir, Mister Stark does something remarkably dangerous on average of twice a day. However, should anything outside the usual happen, you are on the list of-"

The elevator doors open, revealing the interior the parking garage. Pepper is moving through them so fast and distractedly that she startles herself when she runs into Bruce's chest. Pepper jerks back and Bruce steadies her.

"Sorry!" he says, his hands gently on her elbows until she gets her balance. She's not used to having another person with so much access inside the building, so her surprise is understandable - even if it leaves Bruce wondering again if he's really in the _way_ here.

"It's okay. Are you just - standing in the elevator?" Pepper's question is somewhere between perplexed and amused.

"No. Well," Bruce isn't sure 'having a conversation with Jarvis' is really any less crazy than just standing in the elevator. "Tony took off upstairs without me, and I wasn't really sure-"

Pepper takes immediate pity on him. Maybe it's been a very long time for her since she was new in Tony's life, but she still remembers how it was to not be sure just where you belonged. Her mind slows down more easily than Tony's, and she smiles at Bruce, taking a deep breath and re-centering herself from Tony's hectic pace to a more normal one. She squeezes into the elevator next to Bruce, and curls her hand through the crook of his arm. Maybe as much for both for them. As crazy as it seems, even with how recently he'd felt like he was on the very edge of control,, maybe she liked the feeling of someone steady here. 

"He's like that, isn't he?" Pepper asks, and Bruce can't tell if her tone is fond or sad. "He just - makes it so easy to go along with him until it seems like that's what you've always done. Easy. Natural. Jarvis, take us up to the living level, please."

"My pleasure, Miss Potts." Jarvis answers through the elevator speakers, before it surges into motion, smoothly but quickly. 

"Is he going to be alright?"

Pepper makes a face that says she'd like to have an answer to that question, and that she'd like it to be ' yes'. "If he's working and he lets himself make a breakthrough on something important, yes. If he's too upset, probably also yes, but life will get a little hellish around here for a few days. Are-"

She stops herself like she's not sure if what she's about to say will be polite. Not because afraid of him or what might happen if she hurts his feelings, but because she's considerate. Bruce understands the end of it almost the same.

"Will I be okay? Uh, I hope so," Bruce guesses. "Probably. I guess it depends on the exact definition of 'hellish'." 

With Tony it could be almost anything. Explosions were not off the agenda, and that would be too much for certain. "Is there anything we can do for him?"

Pepper looks up at him, tilting her head. Like he's reaffirming her opinions. It's - flattering, but Bruce isn't sure how he deserves it. The elevator stops and they step out. Pepper kicks her shoes off without taking her hand off Bruce's arm.

" _We_ wait. He'll come back to us when he's ready - he sees this as protecting us. Probably with how sharp he gets around the edges, the isolation isn't such a bad idea." Pepper sighs. She heads for the couch, leading Bruce. He surrenders to her momentum, uncertain what else there is to do. "It might not be pretty, but it's just part of Tony. He's _home_ at least, not out making bad decisions. So when he's done, we'll go downstairs and pick him up. It's actually not as bad as it seems. It's the only time he'll let me fuss over him. Maybe it's part of his self-punishment."

Bruce laughs in spite of his worry. Pepper half smiles and pulls him down onto the couch, sitting comfortably against his side and half curled into him. "This okay?" she asks, looking up at him. "It's actually pretty nice to have someone to worry with me."

"I'm..." Bruce starts, and then he swallows. "Well _is_ it okay?" 

This is all new, the very idea of it was something Bruce had never concerned himself with until he'd found himself right in the middle of it somehow. Could this really function? Obviously Tony and Pepper were not only involved but ideally suited to each other in most ways. With Pepper there and seeing the way the pair of them could move in perfect synch, he has very little idea how he even enters Tony's mind.

Pepper looks up at him and makes an exaggerated expression of consideration, before she reaches up and runs her hand under his unshaved chin. "You _could_ use a shave."

It seems to be all the answer she thinks she needs to give on the subject. With her pressed so close, he can almost believe that even though she obviously _can_ take living with Tony all on her own, maybe she likes the feeling of having a little backup. Especially when Tony can't give her that himself. And Bruce is okay with that, he thinks. Even if there was a possibility that everything could go _really_ wrong at some point, there was also the chance that it wouldn't.

Pepper's hands are narrow and delicate where they press on Bruce's ribs, but they don't lack strength. He curls an arm around her shoulders and can't help noticing how blunt and dark his fingers seem over her skin. They sit together for a while, conscious of their closeness and the absence between them. 

"What do you usually do?" He asks her - meaning, when she was helpless like this. When Tony shut her out with the rest of the world. She arches her brows a little in embarrassment and Pepper smiles a little knowing she's a little foolish to expect judgment from Bruce of all people. Like she should already know him better.

"You really want to know?" She asks, as if she wants to makes ure he knows what he's in for. "It's a little ridiculous."

Bruce doesn't want to pressure her, but _now_ he's curious. "Well you don't _have_ to tell me, but it was a question in earnest, yes." 

"I go into the sauna and I sing AC/DC at the top of my lungs," she admits, with a grin that says she knows it's weird but she's not ashamed of it. Maybe there's something else in her smile too - mischief. She continues on somewhat more quietly for the next part, confessing a 'cross your heart and hope to die' sort of secret. "...And Tori Amos."

"That's what I do too," Bruce tells her, in his best attempt at seriousness. She stares at him for a moment, wavering between falling for the joke and landing squarely on her feet. She's surprised that he made it, but she laughs and shoves him in the side.

"You do _not_."

"I don't," Bruce admits, caught but not worried about it. "But it sounds like a good idea."

Pepper looks grateful even if she probably thinks he's just humoring her, then promptly calls him out on the spot without a second's hesitation. "I probably wouldn't mind some company."

Bruce digests t he information with only faint shock, again not sure how he's earned the attention of not one but two amazing people. People who already had each other. His puzzled look seems to wake her sense of compassion, and she shakes her head.

"Tony talks a lot about you. You know, in his way. And he really only did call twice a day while I was gone - granted they were at least an hour long each call, but it's still kind of a miracle," she starts to explain. "And even if you didn't know it, I really needed that. Phil and I - we had more than a passing acquaintance. Tony's incredible and I love him, but he's also this strange - genius, _fragile_ , creative and destructive thing. It's not that I'm not enough for him, or him for me. It's that we're both too much for each other, some times. "

She sighs. "I don't know if that makes any sense, but what I see of you reflected in Tony - I like it. And it's much better to be in this together than try to make someone be the loser in this situation, don't you think?"

Bruce does think, but he's not sure he has the adequate words to agree with her. "You're an angel," Bruce tells her instead, with equal parts conviction and disbelief. "And I'm not sure I deserve either one of you."

Pepper laughs at his tone, and shakes her head. She's somewhere near tears, perhaps, but leaving them at bay because this is easier. This is better, too. "I like sex too much for sainthood."

Bruce blushes at the unexpected confidence, and Pepper's expression becomes distinctly familiar as she takes on one identical to Tony Stark counting coup. She makes it easy to forget how much his equal she is, and she knows it and uses it to her advantage when she wants.

"Tony's said a few things about you too, Saint Potts," he tells her, but she brushes it off for the moment, tucking herself deeper against him and telling Jarvis to turn the TV on. 

It becomes comfortable and natural, and Bruce enjoys the quiet contact. There's no pressure in it, and as the news gives way to evening programming, something endless and sitcom and nature, the quiet is filled with comforting and meaningless noise. Neither cares what's on, they just want the distraction until they both can sleep. Bruce really does sleep, his breaths cycling comfortably opposite to Pepper's.

Something rouses Bruce much later, the full dark of night pressing down on him as he relocates himself in time and space. He's not sure what it was, and sits awake watching the T.V. blear early morning infomercials at his half blind eyes and remembers only distantly that Pepper had set his glasses aside. She's still asleep, immune to whatever premonition woke Bruce, and he's trying not to move too much when the sound repeats. It's a low, distant, ominous boom that makes Bruce look out the window for signs of a storm, and Pepper stirs against his side, waking up.

His eyes only process the clear skies around the tower when abruptly, the power cuts out.


	8. Chapter 8

Pepper jerks upright in a sudden flash that rouses Bruce's attention and a faint stirring in the back of his mind as a second attention focuses.

"Jarvis?" Pepper asks sharply, glancing back to make sure Bruce is seeing what she is, that she hadn't had a nightmare and carried her upset over into reality. She passes Bruce his glasses and he puts them on, the lightless tower coming into clearer view. Usually a dozen LED indicator lights call various appliances at ready to notice, but the darkness is complete except for the moonlight and city glow that pours in the massive windows. 

Only silence answers Pepper, and she's on her feet and moving as fast as Bruce realizes how _wrong_ that seems. He's following her on instinct, trying to hold his breath and thoughts at bay, to give nothing to the _other guy_.

"Is there a generator?" he asks her as she presses open an emergency levered door down into a stairwell. No alarm sounds.

"It will kick in automatically in a few minutes," she assures him, running down the stairs ahead of him, barefoot. "What floor was Tony on?"

Bruce has to think, but it comes back to him quickly. "R &D four, last I knew."

Pepper doesn't bother responding, she just continues determinedly down three more flights of stairs and starts to force the emergency bolt on the door before Bruce hits it behind her and shoves all of his strength into the lever, heedless of the danger involved. The presence at the back of Bruce's mind is alive and aware, fidgeting and pacing the bars like a tiger in a too-small cage. Pepper gets out of his way quickly enough that he realizes even she must be aware of how _close_ that is. She isn't panicked, but she is desperate enough to step aside and look at him levelly, accepting whatever it is that has to happen, _other guy_ or no, to get this door open and get to Tony.

They both implicitly seem to understand that whatever's happening is probably a result of Tony's efforts. The shape the lab is in when Bruce gets the door open confirms his suspicions. It doesn't look quite like a bomb has gone off, and nothing's on fire, but even in the darkness where emergency lights don't shine, the shapes inside are wrong and toppled. One whole half of the wide room is in utter disarray. Nothing moves that Bruce can see.

"Tony?" Pepper calls into the dissarrayed darkness in a small voice. Bruce should be able to see at least _one_ thing glowing, and the absence of light from the arc reactor worries him.

"Yeah," Tony answers, though his voice is muffled and strange. Pepper gasps, lingering on the threshold of the doorway as if she didn't enter the lab nothing will have happened. Her hands are up over her mouth as her eyes adjust, already preparing for the worst. 

A flicker of reflected light near the floor snatches Bruce's attention and he's moving toward it before he can even think about it. Pepper has to pick her way a little more carefully, mindful of all the sharp debris on the floor. 

"I'm here," Tony corrects him, just barely keeping Bruce from inadvertently stepping on him. Correcting himself, Bruce takes the situation in by what he can make out in the ominously flickering glow diffused by Tony's reactor. A whole section of cement wall has come down, complete with the racks of equipment that were once anchored to it. Tony - and Bruce's heart nearly stops - is trapped, pinned beneath it all the way up to his shoulders. He looks pale and pained, and Tony can't make out how it didn't just crush him outright until he peers underneath and sees the wreckage of - Dummy, he thinks. Wedged in and under almost at Tony's side, lifting the debris off of his chest just enough for him to breathe a little. 

"Jesus, Tony," Bruce says, looking down at what he can see of Tony. He doesn't look good, but he's awake - he wasn't dead yet. It's better than it could be already. Pepper doesn't seem to have anything to say, but she's shaking when she kneels next to Bruce and puts her hands gently on Tony's face until he rolls his eyes up toward her.

"Hi," he says, very calmly - as if in conversation. It seems to help abate her shock.

"Tony, what do you need me to do?" Pepper asks, instead of crying or threatening to murder him once they'd saved his life. The reactor flicks off for long seconds, and Bruce hears Pepper catch her breath worriedly. 

"Pepper," Tony's not speaking loud, but he remains clear and calm. "I need you to go upstairs to my locked safe and get one of the backup reactors. The password is 'Captaindouchemerica', all caps, all one word. Numbers instead of vowels."

" _What_?" Pepper asks, incredulous before she can quite stop herself. Tony's calm logic, dire as it seems, appears to be contagious. She nods to herself, as if memorizing what he'd said, and then asks. "Tony, what's the 'u'?"

Bruce has to think about that before he can follow her train of thought - there wasn't a number with an appropriate shape to fill in for 'U'.

"It's just a 'u'," Tony tells her levelly. "Hurry, please."

Pepper starts to get up, then a thought strikes her. "Tony, all the backups are palladium based." She sounds worried - Bruce doesn't like the sound of that either. Palladium was toxic on the best of days, but for Tony to keep it right next to his heart couldn't have been good for him. 

"Okay," Tony reassures her. "One problem at a time here, Pepper. Please."

As if to reinforce Tony's point, the reactor fluctuates again, and Bruce realizes that he can _hear_ it when it's on, a high pitched grinding of metal on metal that _can't_ bode well. Bruce worries further - though the Palladium will kill him slower than by being crushed or the complete loss of the reactor's power for any significant amount of time, if they can't get Tony out the reactor can't be replaced.

"Okay Tony. Hang on," Pepper touches him one more time, knowing she need to do what he asks, but not quite wanting to leave him. She looks up at Bruce, fierce and almost warning, but she doesn't say anything. She trusts him. And then she heads back through the rubble - faster this time, even with bare feet.

Bruce curls his hands under the edge of the section covering Tony and lifts experimentally. Nothing - the racks themselves must weigh nearly a ton all together, which was likely why they were anchored to the wall for safety.

"What did you even _do_ , Tony?" Bruce asks, when they're alone. 

"I'll tell you some other time. It did _seem_ like a good idea." Tony is looking up at Bruce with an absolutely serious expression, and Bruce knows what he's about to ask. Honestly, Bruce isn't quite sure how he's kept it together even this long, but he has, even though he can feel the _other guy_ looking through his eyes and practically stretching his skin already. 

"No surprises, you said," Bruce reminds him, trying to keep his good humor while he worries about how close it is and yet hasn't happened yet, afraid that he'll wake up from the oblivion in the ruins of _another_ life and still just as helpless to stop the momentum.

"This is kind of a surprise for me too," Tony answers, sounding quiet and tired. "But you know we could really use a little-"

The emergency lights snap back on, when the generators kick in with a series of thuds and a steady hum. 

"Resuming function," Jarvis' voice cuts into the light, and Bruce's eyes are still adjusting when trumpets blare cheesily over the sound system apparently picking up where it had left off and resuming the functions Tony had been running. The rest of the lights come back on after the music resumes, and Bruce notices the clear demonstration of Tony's priorities. Johnny Cash's voice chases the opening of the song.

_Love's a burning thing and it makes a firey ring..._

" _Really?_ " Tony challenges Jarvis' musical selection even in mortal danger. " _This?_ Jarvis, I could die, and _this_ is what you play?" 

The music lowers in volume but doesn't cease. Jarvis dutifully informs Bruce - who has closed his eyes and can feel every muscle in his body straining with his attempt to lift the debris - that Tony has accomplished something past his usual level of self-imperilment. Tony laughs, then aborts the sound with a pained hiss. 

 

"Bruce," Tony says, and the sound cuts through the distraction, even as the presence of the Hulk feels heavier and heavier in his mind. 

"I need you back after," Tony tells him, when Bruce opens his eyes helplessly to make contact with Tony's gaze. 

"Tony, I can't guarantee..."

"It's okay. It will be okay." 

Bruce hesitates, pushes hard against the Hulk because he's not as sure as Tony is, and doesn't know how Tony _can_ be sure.

"No pressure, but not only does this hurt an _astonishing_ amount, but I'm going to go into cardiac arrest in about two minutes here-" and Bruce realizes the high pitched efforts of the arc reactor _have_ ceased, as Tony continues. "So if you could maybe..."

Bruce speaks over him. "Tony I could lose control and break the... everything, and what would that really help..."

"... _I_ need help. Really big, _really_ strong help. So I'm not sure why this is even an argument..."

"...he could kill you!"

The emotions that accompany that statement are enough to undo Bruce. His control slips and - it's enough to start the change. Tony's voice is still going, though it almost loses meaning it still pushes into Bruce's awareness as time seems to slow between beats of his heart.

"Or he could help me. Look, he lifts this off me, hooray, I survive again. If he crushes me the end result is the same as you sitting there like Miss Indecision 2012. But hey-" Tony's voice seems more distant, interrupted by the sounds of ripping cloth as seams burst over Bruce's skin.

"Hey, look at me," Tony says, and both Bruce and the Hulk _do_. "You got this."

Standard consciousness doesn't seem to be a trait the Hulk possesses. He doesn't have a linear train of focus, but scatters his attention onto whatever catches his eye and his strong forward drive to keep moving pushes him from one interest to the next, and through all the obstacles in between. Bruce is limited to riding along through his own senses, looking at what the Hulk does. Usually everything fades in importance until only one thing flares into the point of attention at a time, the rest forgotten and un-dealt with as soon as something different stole their attention.

Bruce is aware of lifting the weight he couldn't even have begun to budge with an effort that starts to tax even the Hulk before the section of wall tears free with a shriek of parting rebar. He's aware of how the objects feel in his fingers, and a determination not to drop the whole thing again until - and the desperation here in the 'feeling' of the Hulk is totally _alien_ and new to Bruce. It feels strangely like a purpose. Like somehow the Hulk has found focus.

When the Hulk looks down, Bruce perceives Tony heaving himself slowly backwards, dragging himself free, and when a huge green hand reaches down for him, Bruce briefly loses all hope. He wants to close his eyes, wishes he could _truly_ disassociate from the Hulk. He is going to - to _undo_ everything again, and Bruce is going to be the one to wake up with Tony's blood under his nails, because anything small and struggling always gets the worst of the _other guy's_ attention. And _everything_ is small to the Hulk. Bruce feels his heart stop when a green fist closes on Tony's shoulder, and he can't even look away-

But the Hulk just drags Tony free - and if Tony protests the manhandling a little bit, or exclaims as his injuries are jostled, it's at least an indicator that he's still alive to feel both pain and injuries to his pride. He's too aware for shock or paralysis. The Hulk slides him free with only a _little_ more force than is really necessary, only capable of so much restraint and begins to drop the section of wall -

_-Dummy!-_

-and then miraculously stops. A green, heavy awareness collides ungracefully with Bruce's thoughts, and Bruce holds on with all his years of practice and tries to build a bridge of understanding as to what he wants. Bruce and the Hulk reach back under the wall and drag the half-destroyed robot free. When they turn and deposit it next to Tony, he's watching them where he's propped himself up, panting and limp. Though he's pale-skinned and the lab lights give him a dangerous pallor, he still notices the gesture.

Helpless, but still absolutely confident in his safety, even with the Hulk towering over him. Tony can't smile, but he shifts, manages to give a weak thumbs-up, and Bruce's relief meets the most unexpected echo. The Hulk has one clear, well formed image of a thought. It's not organized enough for words, but clear enough in meaning. And then when Bruce - tentatively, _unbelievingly_ \- pushes forward, the Hulk retreats, leaving him alone with Tony. 

It's exhausting - as if he'd run a marathon against the current midstream, and it leaves Bruce trembling with expended energy and the loss of all his reserves. He wants to eat and sleep until tomorrow night sometime, maybe the morning after, but with the help of the adrenaline still running strong in his veins he forces himself through it.

"That wasn't so hard was it?" Tony asks him, voice muted with calm professionalism.

" _He_ thinks you should just wear your armor all the time, Tony." 

"Might not be a bad idea except for the cramp it would put on my social life," Tony says, as if he were seriously considering it. He takes a pained breath, and lifts a hand - scraped and bloodied, but whole at least - to gesture vaguely at himself. "I'm a little over dressed by comparison."

"There are easier ways to ask me to take your shirt off," Bruce tells Tony, as he unbuttons his shirt, without granting Tony the victory of embarrassing Bruce over his nakedness.

"Oh are there? Can you list them for me?" 

"Jarvis, where's Pepper?" Bruce asks, and the answer is prompt.

"On the way, sir. With a spare reactor as instructed."

"Oh, hey," Tony realizes, as Bruce examines the damaged device in his chest. "You figured out the password. Shame. I thought it'd take you longer than that..."

"Tony." Bruce says, wishing Tony would focus a little more. "Tell me what I'm doing here."

"Okay, if the housing is mostly intact, and it is, you just need to pull the damaged reactor out and re-calibrate the interior electromagnet for the palladium based device."

Bruce waits for further explanation, his hands hovering over the silent reactor.

"It's easy. Go ahead and grip the sides and pull up," Tony coaches him with patience Bruce is still surprised by - then again it's Tony's life on the line and getting upset wasn't going to help the situation. Not in Tony's case anyway - Bruce is so tired that the thought almost makes him laugh inappropriately as he feels the reactor give a little in one direction, he twists that way and feels it disengage. He lifts it clear, and the metal splinter protruding deeply from the center of the device makes it obvious that the device had saved Tony's life again, even more directly than before. Bruce holds it up for Tony to inspect, and Tony arches his eyebrows, impressed.

"Well, that's obviously unfixable," he says, and Bruce hears Pepper scrambling over the debris to get to them. 

"Tony," she says, with some relief to see him freed. "God, you're - not okay. Alright. I brought-" She displays the unit she has in her hands.

"Good. You're just in time," Tony reassures her, before he looks back at Bruce. "Check the magnet."

 

It looks whole, uninterrupted. Bruce doesn't hesitate to explore the armature with his fingers, probing into the bottom of the reactor's carriage. He's still not sure how painful that might be for Tony - or if it doesn't hurt every minute, embedded in muscle and against bone.

"It's intact," Bruce tells Tony, aware of how quickly Tony's temperature is climbing by the heat of his skin.

"Okay. There are four contacts on the new device, and only two on the old. So I need you to _carefully_ change the orientation-"

"So only two contacts will be touching?"

"Yes. That's pretty important." 

Crossed contacts would result in large, irregular discharge - possibly blowing the replacement device. Bruce doesn't want to think about what that would do to Tony's cardiac rhythm. He looks at the bottom of the device in Pepper's hands, which she tilts helpfully toward the light, and then rotates the magnetic receiver. It resists a little, in a moment of nervous tension that would have put Bruce right back on the edge if he wasn't already so exhausted.

"Okay," Bruce says, as it finally gives under gentle pressure. When he reaches for the device, his hands are shaking. He stops himself.

"Pepper, you'd better-"

She understands and moves forward to take Bruce's place, and after carefully orienting the device - Tony corrects her only weakly - she pushes the replacement into place. It click audibly, and with its circuit completed, comes soundlessly to life.

Bruce has never been happier to see a light come on in his life.

"Crisis averted," Tony agrees.

Pepper sits back with a sigh, only then crying, and she doesn't let go of Tony's hand while she dials for emergency services. 

Bruce sits back as adrenaline flushes totally out of his system. The world fades back from him. He doesn't quite pass out, but sounds grow muffled and distant, and he feels trapped in slow motion while the world speeds up around him. But - it's going to be okay. 

That's what matters.

It's okay.


	9. Chapter 9

Bruce recovers fast. Pepper wakes him with a handful of protein bars and a big cup of chicken soup. It'll be enough to get him on his feet again, so he accepts it gratefully and tries not to eat like a ravenous animal.

"I didn't know if you had to sleep it off, or if I should wake you sooner," Pepper apologizes. "Tony's okay. Bruised ribs and he broke two fingers on his right hand, but other than that and some scrapes - and you know, half killing us with worry - he's okay. He wouldn't go to the hospital."

"They're sure the ribs aren't broken?" Bruce asks, around a mouthful of Luna bar. He wants to check on Tony _himself_ but he needs to eat and rehydrate first. Passing out on top of Tony wouldn't make things any better. Or maybe it _would_ \- Bruce gets the feeling bed rest is something that Tony's not capable of. 

"They're sure enough for Tony," Pepper laughs, looking Bruce over to be sure _she's_ satisfied with _his_ recovery. "But I trust them. And I trust him. Kind of. We'll keep him off his feet between the two of us, right?"

Bruce laughs. "I feel overestimated."

"Yeah. Well," Tony's voice interrupts Pepper's answer, and she turns around in obvious disapproval to glare in his direction. "You should, seeing as I'm already putting you to shame, old man. Are you going to come upstairs any time soon or have you decided you like the Feng Shui down here better?"

Obviously nothing's wrong with Tony's voice, but he _is_ looking pretty intensely at Bruce. Tony seems satisfied with his health. Bruce feels better - a lot better - just to see Tony undamaged except for a thickly bandaged hand and wrapped ribs. 

"So what _were_ you doing down here?" Bruce asks, getting carefully to his feet. He glances at Pepper, trying to keep himself as modest as possible. She doesn't seem the least bit scandalized. Bruce guesses she's probably used to worse, living with Tony Stark.

"Nothing that should have caused _this_." Tony answers, and he sounds ilke he's telling the truth. "Actually it turns out that when Thor comes and hammers all over your building - not a metaphor - it's going to weaken the structure a little bit. Lucky for me I designed this place to channel that sort of force, you know down into a more stable floor."

Bruce arches his eyebrows, uncertain how the result here could be called 'lucky'.

" _Anyway_ , I created a concussive blast to test a new set of shock absorbers, and the whole thing just kind of - had too much. Like Mel Gibson on a Sunday morning. Thanks for pulling Dummy out, by the way. That _was_ you, right?"

"Yeah, I - _somehow_ ," Bruce answers, not sure how that happened or how to explain it.

"So everyone's fine. I'll fix Dummy when the fun drugs have worn off. Or - we'll see." Tony glances at his injured hand. "Let's go upstairs. I have a bed that's bigger than some studio apartments."

Bruce has slept in it, and it's not an inaccurate assessment. He gets what Tony means, though. There's enough room for three, and maybe enough need, too.

The next week is a bit of a blur. Bruce hardly has time to wonder how he's going to fit more permanently into this picture - and _if_ he is, if that's what Tony really intends, he's too busy already living it. Between Tony making Happy drag a recliner onto the roof so he could supervise Bruce's golf practice without rousing any protests that he should be resting and Pepper patiently but insistently teaching him the ins and outs of Stark Tower as 'home' instead of 'visiting', Bruce can barely protest.

Pepper was right about one thing - convalescent Tony was a lot more permissable. She and Bruce both have taken advantage of his malleability - mostly just to take care of him. It's only toward the end of the week that Bruce decides he's going to take better advantage of Tony's un-protested invalidity. 

He pulls the project out of Tony's hands - _yes_ the arc reactor's replacement was important, but Bruce was helping him and it'd get done before the palladium levels in Tony's bloodstream were too dangerous, even with this interruption. Tony's expression says he allows the interruption to his work only out of extreme fondness.

"So," Bruce says, and Tony smiles nervously, like he knows what's coming. "Let's talk."

Bruce knows he's being sort of heavy handed, asking Tony to settle into something more defined, or at least to play with a few more cards on the table.

"We're talking," Tony agrees, paying real attention. "About-?"

"This. Uh, how this is going to work."

Tony waits. He has am amazing amount of patience, rather than going off on a tangent or making a guess as to which of the many things Bruce realizes he could be talking about.

"Between you and me and Pepper," Bruce elaborates, crawling up onto the bed and settling over Tony's lap. It's awkward, since Tony's reclined halfway up the headboard, and Bruce has to push the magnifying lamp Tony had pulled out on it's extendable arm back out of the way. He's careful of Tony's ribs, but he still has to resettle his weight further down when he feels Tony pull in a pained breath.

"Okay," Tony says, "Well, we have options."

Tony's eyes evade Bruce's and lift toward the ceiling thoughtfully. "There's the bad ending where you head back to India or wherever because, well, the sex is too fantastic or something, and leave me here pining away like Rapunzel and singing numbers from depressing musicals until Pepper finally snaps and murders me with a pair of safety scissors."

Bruce lets him go on talking, even if he admires Tony's ability to keep a running train of thought as Bruce undoes his pants. Tony's hands start to come up to either protest or help, and Bruce firmly pushes them down to Tony's sides, then presses on the backs of his wrists in clear instruction not to move them. He's not sure under what penalty.

"I thought we were _talking_ ," Tony says, sounding a little surprised but not protesting.  
"We are. This is the part where you talk and I listen," Bruce prompts him.

"So we're multitasking. Okay." Tony groans when Bruce closes his hand around Tony's cock and strokes slowly. His voice goes up a little in pitch as he continues. "Then there's always the option where you stay here with Pepper and I - which is probably still on the table, you know. In a sort of - _tantric_ \- sense. We both understand that there's the theory-" 

Tony hesitates at the long swipe of Bruce's tongue against the head of his dick, which Bruce enjoys. He likes knowing that it's not _his_ problem that Tony could just keep talking through this. He gives Tony a pause to continue in, and Tony licks his lips and puts his thoughts back together.

"The _theory_ of danger. And we'll be ready for it. But I don't think the solution is in being ready to kill the Hulk - you - or stop him at all costs. Maybe it's just being ready to work _with_ him, now that you're both a bit more mature. Which - by the way, the salt and pepper hair thing? Driving me crazy right now. Seriously about the hottest thing ever."

Bruce is giving Tony about the best view he's going to get of the top of his head, and possibly Tony's perceptions are a little colored by the fact that Bruce has Tony's cock in his mouth. Tony's fingers curl in Bruce's hair appreciatively, and Bruce draws back quickly, giving Tony a pointed look. Tony's eyes open, and he realizes he'd lifted a hand against 'orders', and grins daringly.

"Maybe if you tied them?" He suggests, almost hopefully, as he passes his fingers against Bruce's cheek and then puts his hand back down onto the covers. "But if anyone can make it work, it's us I think. I mean, I have confidence in my own abilities, of course. And you're a genius too so - whenever you have an idea, bam, you're right where you can make it happen."

Bruce appreciates the sentiment, but he's not sure how to tell if Tony actually means it. How long is Tony Stark's attention span? Bruce isn''t sure he'll feel this way in a year, let alone ten. Not after spending all that time with the threat, however minimal Tony seems to think it is, right there next to him. Next to Pepper, too. Because however careless Tony is with his own skin, Bruce knows he doesn't feel that way about Pepper.

"Are those the only options?" Bruce asks, his hand sliding easily over the length of Tony's erection with slick ease. Tony looks pained, like the next one is something he's not fond of considering.

"Or you get your feet back under you and move out into a decent apartment and get on with your life as a moderately well adjusted superhero. You continue to help the Avengers be a huge success - because face it we need the guy who can sneeze off space lasers and play jump-rope with a god. You decide you don't really need my kind of influence in your life, that's okay. I'm still going to keep the Loki dent. Pepper likes it."

Tony concludes, but the way his eyes slide away and his tone drops is heartbreaking. It's as close to pathetic as Tony ever gets, even though the words are delivered with humorous encouragement, like if that's what Bruce wants for his life, Tony will fight with all his strength to make it happen.

" _Why?_ " Bruce asks, not understanding how this had come so far, so seriously. "Why all this for me?"

"Because," Tony says, and then seems frustrated with words. He curls his hands around the back of Bruce's head and pulls him up the length of his body and kisses him, fiercely, as if that was answer enough. Bruce feels the scratch of bandages against his neck from Tony's hand.. "You are fucking _worth_ it, Bruce Banner. And I think with all the shit life handed you, you forget it. So I want to remind you, like, every day. How do you feel about text messages and voice-mail?"

Bruce laughs.

"Morse code? Skywriting? Bronze statues? Singing telegram? I could have Justin Bieber himself on your doorstep _tomorrow_ -"

"Who?"

"Okay, yeah. Sorry. I'm a little giddy. All my blood's like-"

Bruce wraps his hand around where it's gone between them. Tony groans, and shifts - not quite arching out of consideration for his ribs - and tries to keep his focus. His grip on Bruce's shoulders tightens for a moment. 

"You're killing me, here. So what's this - a yes? An apology?"

Bruce hesitates, just to keep Tony guessing, but he makes his answer more clear with better application of his mouth, looking up to speak just before he closes it back around Tony's cock.

"I'll think about it."


	10. EPILOGUE

Tony shoves Dummy's hand out of the way again.

"Stop. Stop trying to look at what I'm doing because every time you look you get in the way." Tony tells it, but not too sharply. It feels better to have Dummy moving at all again, after everything. Even if it's currently trying to see the repairs Tony is making _as_ he does them. He feels almost the same way about doctors.

The padded fingers move again, twitching almost affectionately against Tony's shoulder, and Tony sighs exasperatedly. 

"Seriously. Keep fidgeting. It's not like what I'm doing-"

A sudden eruption of sound - loud, human singing - from behind Tony distracts him and he turns fast enough to bang his head on Dummy. It's from the Sauna room. Again. 

Tony is going to kill them for the impromptu duets. They don't hold their voices back at all, apparently pleased by the acoustics achieved when they go full tilt-

_"Rabbit! Where'd you put the keys girl!"_

-and why he ever thought two would be easier to live with than one he's not sure. Because they _both_ know exactly what they can get away with (it's everything, Tony discovers) and even getting walked all over a little bit like they do somehow makes him like them more. What can he say? It's a little sexy to have liberties taken - especially since they more than sometimes are taken with Tony's body.

He bangs on the sauna door, but the rattling of the frosted glass doesn't even make them hesitate -

_"Rabbit! Where'd you put the keys girl!"_

And how Bruce knew Tori Amos words - if those even were the words - he's not asking. It's just part of what makes him perfect.

"Stop!" Tony orders, largely ignored. "Stop. Those are not even words. They can't be the words because _those_ words don't work in that order. Stop."

But even when he gives up trying to work on the same floor as that caterwauling and goes downstairs gingerly to take apart car engines - Stark 3 has been fussy since he crushed it - he tells Jarvis;

"Play the audio from the sauna room, Jarvis. Thirty percent volume."

 

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Gosh I don't seem to actually have too many notes for this one, guys. What do y'all think of this style of posting? Where I do shorter parts as I finish them instead of waiting to do the whole thing lump sum when it's finished?  
> -Forgive any glaring golf inaccuracies. I'm still learning the rules and I've only done practice stuff like driving and putting.  
> -Speaking of Golf, there is a fic in the works for Avengers Golf, called 'Nassau', watch this space or AO3, or my Tumblr (shawarma palace) for news.  
> -I seriously love Pepper. Seriously.  
> -The song Jarvis plays mid-emergency is 'Ring of Fire', by Johnny Cash.  
> -The lyrics at the end are from 'Cornflake Girl', by Tori Amos. 
> 
> Lastly, THANK YOU ALL. Everyone who left me kind words along the way, or even just clicked the 'kudos' button on A03. You guys are the reason this got done so quickly and I am honored that you would even read this. Thank you so much, really.


End file.
